Manic Monday
by Banisters
Summary: Little brothers, brutal showers, small famines, running, panic attacks, and bad coffee are just a normal part of Skittery's Monday. [Resubmitted one shot]


**Author's Note:**

**For those of you who might have seen this story before, _yes, it has been resubmitted. _I needed to edit it, so, well, here you go. I've proof-read it and everything. Enjoy.**

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Monday, as defined by Webster's II New Riverside University Dictionary, simply means the second day of the week, occurring after Sunday and before Tuesday. I have one thing to say to that. Webster, oh great Webster, whoever you are, you are a filthy liar. You're a manipulative rat. You twist the truth and leave it so distorted it is barely recognizable.

Monday is not just a day. According the Cooper S. Avenue Dictionary (let's call it the Skittery Dictionary for short), this "day" is a symbol. A symbol of misery and pain and mourning and suffering, to be specific. Never in my entire life have I experienced a Monday that was actually pleasant. Today was no exception. At 6:03AM, I left Sunday in the dust as Monday devoured my soul. _Yes, my soul._ Need proof? Here we go.

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**EXAMPLE ONE:**

"COOPER COOPER COOPER WAKE UP COOPER WAKE UP!"

Tumbler is shrieking at the top of his lungs to get me out of bed, conveniently just as I begin to hit the good part of my dream (the one about me getting an award for creating the best tasting grilled salmon on earth). I groan and pull my blanket over my head, nearly suffocating myself in a desperate attempt to drown out my little brother.

"Coooooooooper, wake up!"

By now Tumbler has somehow managed to walk through the layers of assorted crap on the floor of my room and is standing by my bed. He flops down on the mattress, shaking me furiously and pounding on my spine. I wrap my blanket tighter around my body, practically fusing it with my skin, trying to ignore that concept that my vertebrae are being crushed. _No no no, go away, Tumbler, lemme sleep! Stop yelling. Stop it stop it stop it go away go away._

"WAKE UP, COCKFACE!"

_Oh, I'm awake now!_ I bolt up in bed and throw myself on top of Tumbler. He squeals for mercy, flailing beneath me and my blanket of despair. _Haha, take that. _

"I'M SORRY I'M SORRY OW STOP THAT HURTS GET OFF OF ME COOPER STOP IT OW!!!"

I lean back and Tumbler lies still, trying to catch his breath.

"Don't ever use that word, Tommy. You're nine, you shouldn't be talking like that."

"I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS BAD!" he yelps, inching away from me and landing on the floor with a thud, right on top of my pile of DVD's.

"You obviously knew it was bad if you said it to me. Do you even know what the word means?" I ask him, eyeing _Metroland _to see if he crushed it or not. _You are one lucky kid, if you destroyed my film, I would have killed you._

"It's a rooster, right? I called you Rooster-Face, really, that's what it means!"

I can't help but smile at his innocence.

"Yeah, that's what it means. Rooster."

_Poor ignorant child._

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There are some people in this world who do not mind taking showers in the wee hours of the morning. I, for the record, am not one of those people. Something about stepping into a danger zone of pelting water bullets while I'm still asleep never seemed appealing. It's horrible, you're still hanging onto the comfort of drowsiness, swaying in exhaustion, and suddenly, BAM. Water, hurling itself at your body, poisoning that lovely state of grogginess.  
**  
EXAMPLE TWO:**

The faucets scream like boiling lobsters as I turn them slowly. I almost feel guilty until I remember that they are metal devils that encourage the water to come blasting out of the showerhead. With that in mind, I turn them even harder, hoping to cause them some sort of pain, but only result in hurting my hands. _Stupid faucets. _

I step into the shower, bracing myself against the stream of water that prickles my shoulders. Huh. This isn't as bad as it usually is. It's kinda nice. _Oh my, golly gee, jeepers mister, is that what I think it is, over in the corner there? Why, yes it is! That is in fact Tag Body Wash! Oh, how delightful! I have a feeling that today will be lovely-_

Before I can finish my thoughts that are suspiciously full of gay 60's expressions, the temperature of the water changes dramatically. The warm liquid bullets suddenly become cold liquid bullets. _Gelid little droplets of havoc! stop it!_

"OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!" I bellow in shock. _COLD COLD COLD COLD COLD!_ "OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!"

While combating my reaction to the turmoil, Tumbler knocks on the bathroom door, giggling.

"You sound like all those women in those movies we aren't allowed to watch because Dad says they are rated X!" he laughs.  
_  
Oh, clever, Tumbler, real clever. What is with the inappropriate comments this morning, buddy?_

"SHUT UP!" I holler.

"SORRY SORRY DON'T HURT ME!"

_Wimp._

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4 out of 5 nutritionists agree that breakfast is the most important meal of the day (I'm guessing they paid the 5th guy to say it's not). After not eating all night, your body needs energy that can only be obtained by eating a hearty morning meal. Some yummy (and healthy, oh boy!) options include whole grain toast, low fat yogurt, granola, and fresh fruit. Naturally, I don't get those "yummy" options.   
**  
EXAMPLE THREE:**

_Special K. 2-year old box of Trix. Toaster strudels plagued with freezer burn. _

I search through the entire kitchen, every square millimeter, and find absolutely nothing to eat. I mean, sure, there are eggs and sausage somewhere in the fridge, but I don't have time to eat anything that takes more than 30 seconds to unwrap, cook, defrost, or dump sugar on. There is always the alternative of catching a bite to eat before school, but that means arriving to school later than I already am.

"Crap…" I hiss to myself. _Food food food where is my food?_

My eyes dart to the bowl on the floor, which is filled to the brim with dog food for my chow chow, Nutrasweet. The bits of kibble, red meaty chunks, and green veggie pellets actually look appetizing. For a moment, I consider shoving a handful of his Beneful into my mouth, until I remember what is in it._ Mmmmm, nothing tastier than cow by-products and surplus vegetables!_

"Why is there no food in this house?" I mutter to one in particular.

Nutrasweet trots into the kitchen and sits down, blinking his scrunched up adorable-ugly eyes at me. He whimpers and sneezes, and I'm forced to grin at his goofiness.

"Make yourself useful," I say to him. "You know, chows were only bred so people in China could eat them. Go put some salt on yourself, Sweets."

My dog points his smushy face at the pantry, as if suggesting I look there for food. He wags his tail and steps back, smiling, his black tongue cocked out of the side of his mouth.

"There's nothing in there, pooch-face. I already checked."

Nutrasweet noses the pantry door open and scavenges around until he finds a Power bar. I snatch it away from him, pat his head, and run out the door.  
_  
You may be named after an artificial sweetener, Nutrasweet, but boy, do you know food._

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I can't even make an introduction for this. It is just too tragic. I mean, honestly, this event has caused me so much pain, I think I might even have post-traumatic-stress-syndrome.

**EXAMPLE FOUR: **  
_  
30-9-26  
30-9-26  
30-9-26_

I stare at my locker, aggravated with it's reluctance to open. It is the third time in the past month that my locker has jammed. _YoupieceofshitlockeropenorI'llcrushyourtrachea_. I try the combination again and –surprisesurprise- I don't have any luck. Noooooooooooooooooooo. Sighing, I unwrap my energy bar and bring it to my mouth. Just as I am about to take a bite, I hear a familiar voice coming from behind me.

"Hiya Skitts-o-phrenia!"  
_  
And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse._

Spot saunters down the hall, Jack and Swifty by his side. Judging by the looks on their faces, they enjoy Spot's new nickname for me.

"Hiya, Shawn-nee-kwa," I retort, tossing him a wry smile while smashing my locker with my foot.

"Good morning, _Skeet_ery," Spot says. I can tell he is being good natured with his insults, but I'm not in the mood for it. You see, Spot was the type of person who is immune to the symptoms of Monday, and he figures he can help me enjoy the hellish day by popping out rude comments. _Haha, yeah right._

"Cut him some slack, Spot," Jack defends, putting his arm around my neck in a protective manner. Spot rolls his eyes. Although Jack can get lost in his own head sometimes, he always makes sure to take care of me, as well as anyone else he is friends with. It can be a bit overwhelming, and sort of offending, like he thinks none of us can stick up for ourselves.

"So…um…Did you guys finish that thing for science?" Swifty asks in an attempt to change the subject.

"What thing?" I inquire, my face distorted in perplexity. I'm not the most organized person in the world, due to growing up with a very ADHD Jack Kelly. Since I spent my childhood hanging out with him, his muddled manners rubbed off on me and I never really learned the meaning of "write down your assignments."

"The five page essay on an element. I chose Lead."

_OH SNAP. I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO DO THAT._

"I chose Mercury," Spot interjects.

"I did Fe…I mean, Iron. Haha, yeah, I did Iron," Jack beams.

"Apparently I chose 'I'm gonna fail because I didn't do the homework'," I mumble.

"…That's not an element, Skitts. Tsk tsk," Spot scolds as he grabs my Power bar right out of my hand.

"Hey! That's mine!" I protest. _Gimme my cardboard flavored bar back!_

"Uh-uh. Only kids who do their homework deserve breakfast," Spot explains before putting my meal into his mouth. Jack shakes his head and Swifty stifles a snicker. _Grrr._

"Ugh, Shawn, you are such an asshole," I growl.

"I know. I got the recessive gene in my family. Can't help it," he jokes.

"Whatever…" I sneer, my stomach grumbling as I head off to first period, defeated by both Spot and my locker.  
_  
Monday: 1. Skittery: 0.  
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First period. This class officially marks the start of the academic activities that are going to unravel throughout the day. Some folks have a difficult first period, such as calculus. Others, like me, have an easier one, an elective, such as computer arts. Sadly, in spite of whatever class you have at the beginning of the day, elective or core, nothing can change the events that will occur when the next bell rings. Some call it destiny. I call it "Aw, man, I'm screwed."

When I first signed up for computer arts, I expected a room full of Macs, fully loaded with Photoshop, scanners, Wacom tablets, and everything else that would make a digital artist pee themselves in delight. But, as I learned on the first day of the class, expect the unexpected. I mean, yeah, we only had a couple of the graphic tools I mentioned, but that wasn't the problem. What was, exactly? Two kids that go by the name of Jeremy and Alex. AKA, my two best friends, Kid Blink and Mush, who also happen to be in a phase where they're both silently irritated with each other.

**EXAMPLE FIVE:**

"SKITTLES!" Blink greets, rushing into the art room two seconds before the bell rings. Mush follows him, but doesn't make it in time and gets a tardy. He sits down beside me, frowning, while Blink starts blabbering about what the two of them did over the weekend. I'm not listening, however, because I'm trying to hear the morning announcements, except it's impossible, because Blink is the loudest person I've ever met.

"…OH MY GOSH, IT WAS HILARIOUS, WASN'T IT, MUSH?" Blink gushes, not even bothering to actually tell the beginning of his story.

Mush shrugs and rests his head on my arm. From a distance, everyone gets the impression that Mush and Blink are basically the same. They see them as spontaneous and wild, but it's not true, for Mush, at least (Blink really is like that). Mush gets sick of it, and he's really sensitive, which most people don't take into consideration. Like now, for instance, he's suffering through one of Blink's crazy stories, not getting the opportunity to say a word and probably feeling really hurt.

"Yeah, it was funny, I guess," he murmurs.

"Wait wait wait, start over," I interrupt. "What's funny? I wasn't paying attention."

"UGH, FORGET IT. You two never listen to me."

_We'd listen if you didn't talk so loud and fast._

I grin at Mush, who lifts his head and gets up to go to his computer, already fed up with Blink in spite of how early it is. Blink looks around, oblivious to the fact that Mush just ditched him, and decides to head off to his computer as well.

_Great. By how things seem to be going, I can tell today is going to be hectic._

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Fitness is a major part of everyone's life. Whether it's thirty minutes of cardio, one hundred crunches, or squats, there's a form of exercising for everybody. Except me. I'm not exactly what you would call an athlete. Sure, I'm good at certain sports, but things like running flat out murder me. And what do you think we did in third period gym today? That's right. Running.  
**  
EXAMPLE SIX:**

The noxious odor of Axe burrows deep into my sinuses when I arrive to the locker room. I open my gym to locker to find Jack's clothes tossed in sloppily (we share a locker due to our school's low budget), which means he's already dressed out.

"Hey Skittery! We get to run the pacer today!"

I turn around, recognizing Jack's voice, to see him standing there, not wearing his uniform, but his infamous Batman boxers. He's got this look of ecstasy plastered on his face, because he loves running the pacer. It almost makes me sick how eager he is about sprinting back and forth to the sound of cheap music.

"Whoopee," I sigh. "…So um…where's your uniform?"

"I forgot it. I need to borrow your extra one." Jack pouts his lips, making the bottom one quiver oh so slightly, and I swear a layer of tears covers his eyes.  
_  
Get your own, Bruce Wayne. That face isn't gonna convince me. _

"It's just for this period," he explains. "Please?"

_No. I don't want you wearing my extra uniform, Dark Knight. It's gonna reek of Old Spice. _

"Sure, go ahead," I seethe.

We get dressed in a matter of minutes and head into the gym (which is unusually stuffy), and start with the warm ups.

_Sit down. Reach for both feet.  
Right leg out, left leg in.  
Switch legs.  
Butterfly.  
Right knee over left leg, turn left.  
Switch.  
Face the flag, sixty sit ups on your own.  
Push up position. Twenty five push ups.  
Twenty Roman soldier push ups.  
Stand up.  
Tricep stretch, right arm across your chest.  
Switch.  
Right arm behind your back.  
Switch.  
Small arm circles to the front. Medium arm circles. Big arm circles.  
Now backwards.  
Fifteen three count jumping jacks.  
One-two-three-**one**-one-two-three-**two**-one-two-three-**three…**_

I shake throughout the entire set of warm ups, my anxiety about the pacer rising. My fear is confirmed when our gym teacher, Mr. Tuscan, drags the pacer machine out of the equipment closet. _Ahhh, no, put it back, no! Don't make me do it!_

Jack approaches me, smiling.

"Ready?" he asks.

I shake my head, but find myself next to him as the woman from the machine bellows out instructions.

"The test will begin in thirty seconds. The running speed starts slowly buts increase every time you hear the triple bleep. If you stop running, your test is over. The test will begin after a five second countdown on the word 'start'. Five-four-three-two-one-start."  
_  
Somebody shoot me._

I run to the other side of the gym, Jack several feet in front of me, trying to ignore that tacky techno music playing in the background. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. There's a stitch in my side by the time I've completed fifteen "back and forths". Jack is still smiling, barely breaking a sweat when we reach thirty. I'm panting like a dog at forty, my lungs on the verge of collapsing.

"Jack………I………can't………do……….anymore………" I cough, tripping. I fall down, hitting the floor hard. Jack whirls his head around but keeps running. I manage to drag myself to the bleachers, where I lay for five minutes, gasping for air.

_Hate running hate running hate running._

After five minutes, Jack comes over to check on me.

"How many did you do?"

"Forty three," I wheeze. "You?"

"The machine only goes up to ninety, so I had to stop."

"You must be on steroids."

"It's called being in shape."

_Ugggggggggggggggggggh. In shape my ass._

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Lunch, at my school, isn't a time for eating. Absolutely no one spends more than five minutes eating. Lunch is a social period, the only time of the day where you can talk to anyone about anything. Every student cherishes the twenty minutes of free time, using it however they want. I don't have that option, however, because every day I'm stuck at a table with Jack, Spot, Mush, and a few random girls I don't even know.  
**  
EXAMPLE SEVEN:**  
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"I'm too sexy for my love too sexy for my love, love's going to leave me, I'm too sexy for my shirt too sexy for my shirt so sexy it hurts, and I'm too sexy for Milan too sexy for Milan, New York and Japan…"_

"Will you stop singing that, Jack?" I snap when I sit down. The instant my pink Styrofoam tray touches the surface of the table, everyone reaches over to steal pieces of my fruit salad. I go from having an actual lunch to having eight grapes and a bottle of water. _Spiffy._

"Sorry," he apologizes, popping a slice of my kiwi in his mouth. "But shouldn't you be disciplining Spot over there?"

I glance over at Spot, who's sitting next this "girl he isn't dating but really really likes but won't admit it so he's just going to flirt with her and do dirty things while we're eating lunch". Spot's a second away from dropping a grape down her shirt, but I smack his hand away.

"Hey!" he shouts. The girl frowns and laughs, and while Spot is glaring at me, she shoves the grape down his pants. Spot leaps up and tries to shake the fruit out of his jeans, which sends Jack and Mush and I into hysterics.

"Not funny," Spot barks once he gets the grape out, but I can tell he doesn't care. He grabs his girl by her waist and wraps her in a hug, but she tries to get away. Spot won't let her though, and both start play-fighting, which somehow ends up with both of them on the floor, laughing. Jack looks down at them and exhales deeply.

"Why is it that every time I look at them, they seem to be going at it?" he asks me.

I shrug. Mush finishes off my cantaloupe and steers the conversation away from Spot.

"Hey Skitts, you know that girl from seventh period?"

_Oh yeah. There are only twelve girls in the class, so of course I'd be able to narrow it down._

"Which one?"

"That one you like."

_What are you talking about? There aren't any girls in seventh period that I like. _

"What about her?"

"Jacky-Boy and I set up a date for you two."

_WHOWHATWHENWHEREHOWWHY?_

"WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE HOW WHY?"

"A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y," Jack says. "You know…Teaching Teddy? From the 90's? Nevermind."

Mush and I stare at him for a moment before we continue talking.

"We figured you were having a rough Monday, so we asked her if she'd like to go with you to get some coffee later on."

_Coffee?_

"Mush, I don't have the strongest G.I. tract. You know I can't drink coffee," I whimper.

"You'll thank us later."

"I doubt that."

"You doubt _everything._"

_Do I doubt everything? I don't doubt everything. Do I doubt myself? Oh, man._

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For me, fifth period is my own personal security blanket. At school, we have block scheduling, but fifth period is the one class we have every single day. I embrace the period because I know that no matter what else happens in my educational environment, fifth period will stay the same. The same people, same teacher, same subject. Until today, but that was predictable; so far my day hadn't been the least bit ethereal. Much to my dismay, fifth period was nothing but a debacle.

**EXAMPLE EIGHT:**

The sound of my Converse squelching against the tiles of the Tech Systems room drowns out the echo of the bell as I pull the same feat Blink did in Computer Arts this morning. My teacher raises her eyebrow at me, smiling because she knows I can't stand being late to a class. The same cannot be said for Swifty, who darts into class five minutes later. It's obvious he ran to the room, the evidence being his heaving chest and obnoxious panting. I take a good look at his face, eager to see his "What? Late? Me? Aw, come on, you love me, Teach, don't punish me!" look but it doesn't display that familiar expression. Instead, his cheeks are puffy and a peculiar pale shade of green. He must have run to his locker right after lunch and run all the way to Tech Systems, which is downstairs on the other end of the school. _Running on a full stomach? _Then it hits me. _Oh no. No, Swifty, get outta the room, right now. SOMEONE GET HIM OUT OF THE ROOM!_

Unfortunately for me, nobody can hear what I'm thinking. Swifty leans over and I shove my fingers into my eardrums. I squeeze my eyelids shut just as he begins to retch, and by the time he's throwing up, I find myself in the back of the room, near the exit, trembling. I clutch my knees to my chest and bury my head in my crotch. I can feel myself crying and hyperventilating. Ever since I can remember, I've been an emetophobic, which means I have an overwhelming fear of vomiting or being near anyone who's puked in the past 48 hours.

A roar of "EWWWWWWWW!!!!'s" erupt from my peers and they don't even notice me, huddled up, sobbing and acting like a soldier in shell shock. _Scaredscaredgethimout get him out of this room please please Swifty leave leave leave if you don't leave I'll get stomach flu Swifty leave get out get out help me help help me oh God no help me help me help me…_

I lie by the exit for what seems like forever, muttering things to myself until someone pokes me in the side. I squirm and pull myself into an even tighter ball. _WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME? ARE YOU SWIFTY? GET YOUR BARFY HANDS OFF ME! STOP DON'T TOUCH ME PLEASE DON'T TOUCH ME IF YOU GET ONE CHUNK ON ME I'LL HAVE TO SHOOT MYSELF!_

"Skittery?"

_Please please please I don't want to get sick pllllleeeease if I get sick I'll end up in the hospital for overdosing on Pepto Bismol._

"Skitts-o-phrenia?"

_NOGODYOUAREGOINGTOKILLME._

"Skittles?"

_Skittles? NO I DON'T WANT SKITTLES IF I EAT FOOD THAT HAS BEEN IN THE SAME ROOM AS SWIFTY I'LL GET SICK._

"Dammit, Cooper! GET UP!"

"…B-B-Blink?" My voice is wavering and terrified, and if it weren't for the fact that I'd like to die right now, I'd probably laugh at my tone. I open one eye, peeking out from behind my sweaty hands. Blink offers me his hand but I don't take it. Instead I crawl away from him.

"Is he out of the room?" I snap, staring at Blink's eyepatch, knowing that if I look to the left and see a pile of regurgitated food on the floor I'll either faint or smash my head on any object I can find.

"Who?" Blink asks as he kneels down by me.

"Swifty. Is Swifty still in the room?"

"No. They cleaned '_it'_ up, too," Blink comforts. I'm glad he's aware that if he even mentions the word "throw up" I'll try to leap out of the exit. "Should I go to the clinic and nick some of Jack's Xanax from the nurse?"

"I……I think……I think I'll……b-b-b-be…okay," I stutter. My teacher is still at her desk, unfazed by Swifty's up-chucking and my panic attack. She trusts that Blink will help me. I just don't know if I do.

"I'm going to tell you a story," he says. "Hopefully it will teach you a lesson about fear. Once upon a time there was a little cow. He was so little he could fit in the palm of even the smallest anorexic hand. His name was Eeorkle."

I nod for him to go on.

"One day Eeorkle was eating grass. He was chewing and chewing and farting, and it was pretty gross. Eeorkle caught a whiff of his own stench and sneezed. He sneezed so hard his eye came out. It was strewn all over face, but the vessels connecting his eye to his brain were still attached. So little Eeorkle lived depressingly ever after with one eye still hanging out on his face. The end."

"What was the point of that?" I laugh.

"Well, for one, you're not scared shitless anymore. Two, I just told you how I lost my other eye."

"You still _have_ your other eye." I reason. "You just started wearing it when Pirates of the Caribbean came out."

"IS THAT ANY WAY TO TREAT THE MAN WHO JUST SAVED YOUR LIFE?"

"Dude, I love you."

"Anytime, bro."

"Thanks, dawg."

"Sure thing homie."

"We cool?"

"We cool."

_We suddenly talkin' gangsta. Guess Ima go get krunk now._

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Ahhhhh. Seventh period. The last period of the day. When all the chaos is finally over and I relax. And…surprisingly…I could, _I could actually relax._ Nothing tragic happened in seventh. I did linear equations and broke my pencil but nothing was terrible. I did, however, see who Mush set me up on a date with. I didn't like her, no, David did, but he acted so gay that she never even considered him. I smiled at her and she smiled back, and later at our lockers we planned our mini date.

**MY FINAL EXAMPLE:**

"Um…I'll have a small decaf."

The cashier at Starbucks looks at me and doesn't respond. I drum my fingers on the counter for a few moments and repeat myself in case he didn't hear me. Still, he doesn't respond. I clear my throat and try again.

"Ahem. I'll. Have. A. Small. Decaf."

_Hello? Anyone in there?_

"I. WOULD. LIKE. TO. PURCHASE. A. DECAFFINATED. BEVERAGE. OF. THE. SMALL. VARIETY. PLEASE."

"We don't have smalls," he finally says. "But you can have a tall."

I guffaw to myself in disbelief. "Sure, I'll take a tall decaf."

"That'll be $5.17."

I sit down, a bit confused at the cashier, and begin sipping my coffee. My tongue burns on the rich searing liquid, and as a vulgarity settles itself in my throat, my date walks in. She spots me in a second and slides into her chair.

"Hi, Cooper," she says.

"Hi Shada," I say right back. I walk with her to order a coffee and we both snort at the cashier when she asks for a medium and he insists they only have a "venti".

"So, I've heard people call you Skittery. What's that about?"

"Back in middle school, a bunch of my friends and I went on a camping trip. The first night I ended up sharing a sleeping bag with Jack, who said I was freaking out the whole night. He told everyone I was skittish because I thought someone was going to rip open the tent and kill me. Except, Jack accidentally said 'skittery' instead of 'skittish', and it's kinda grown on me."

She laughs and for the first time I notice that she's gorgeous. She has amazingly natural features, which I assume is because she's Native American. Her eyes remind me of the coffee we're drinking: warm, calming, and just plain alluring. Her hair is dark brown and straight, which enhances how smooth her skin is. I can't believe I'd never seen this in Shada before.

We talk about school and family (turns out she has a little brother too) and then Jack and Mush and Blink stroll into Starbucks. I try to ignore them and get some stirry straws while Shada buys a biscotti from the clueless guy behind the counter. _Come on, guys, you know I love you, but a need a break right now._ Shada and I sit down at the same time. Jack and Mush are no where to be seen but Blink is waiting for us.

"Skitts. Shada."

"Blink. Random invisible person standing next to you."

Shada involuntarily giggles. I grin.

"So what are you and Jack and Mush doing here?" I interrogate.

"Just wanted some hot cider," he replies.

Jack and Mush walk out of the bathroom and wave, grab Blink, and are gone just like that. Shada and I shrug and laugh at them. I take a sip of my drink and we start talking about our life stories (_haha!_) When she's telling me about how her parents met, a sudden sharp pain hits my stomach. My legs feel stiff and I tap them up and down. My intestines gurgle and I just know that coffee didn't agree with me (or maybe I caught Swifty's illness that wasn't even an illness)

"Um, can you excuse me for a second? I'm gonna run to the restroom," I blurt.

"Alright," Shada nods.

I stumble to the bathroom, gripping my stomach as "Manic Monday" starts playing on the radio…

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So what do you think, Mr. Webster? Need anymore convincing that Monday is terrible? Okay, so _maybe_ things weren't so bad in the end, with Shada, I mean, until my boys showed up. They switched my coffee with Shada's, which wasn't decaf, and I ended up in the bathroom for forty five minutes. Shada got impatient and left, but she said she had to pick up her little brother from soccer practice and that it had nothing to do with me. _Hmmm._ I don't know. All the bad stuff that happened: the entire morning, doing the pacer, Swifty vomiting, and my case of IBS, it doesn't seem so harsh anymore…But hey, I still hate Monday. I wish it was Sunday. 'Cause that's my fun day.


End file.
